


Which Way the Weather's Going

by themonkeycabal



Series: Run 'Verse [23]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Clint and Peggy BroTP, Gen, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themonkeycabal/pseuds/themonkeycabal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just needed a place to land for a minute, with somebody who wasn't going to look at him like he was broken, or tragic, or monstrous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Which Way the Weather's Going

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place post-The Avengers, and between chapters 15 & 16 of "We'll Run Like We're Awesome". So, back a ways in the series.

Aliens invaded. And so now that was the world they were living in. And he got brain-jacked by an alien god thing. And so that was going to screw him over for who knew how long. Not even six hours after the attack on Manhattan and he found his ass bumped to medical leave pending a psych-eval. Screw them. He stayed in New York to make sure Loki actually left, and to help with the rescue work, because he could do that, and didn't need anybody's permission, SHIELD, you dick bags. 

Except the nights got long and he couldn't breathe when he wasn't working. So, a few days after the invasion, Clint Barton found himself in DC again. He just needed … he just needed a place to land for a minute, with somebody who wasn't going to look at him like he was broken, or tragic, or monstrous. 

Clint fidgeted in the lobby of the nursing home. It was a nice place. Big open space, wood floor, wood panelling on the walls, warm cream paint above that, paintings of seascapes and meadows and stuff. A fireplace, couches, coffee tables with flowers. The whole damned nine yards. Fancier than any place he'd ever lived. 

And between him and the front desk was a scowling security guy and an even more scowling nurse. She looked like Fury when he was pissed at him. Did Fury have a daughter? Or granddaughter, maybe? Niece? Weird, lady clone of him in her twenties? They'd all been staring each other down for a little more than an hour. It was really starting to get under his skin. 

"So. Should we order a pizza? I mean, if we're going to be here for a while. Pepperoni? Pepperoni. I refuse to order a veggie pizza."

"We have rules, Mr. Barton," the woman growled.

"I forgot the knife was in my boot. Seriously," he exclaimed, feeling aggravated and a little desperate. He'd explained this about a hundred times. If they wouldn't let him see Peggy … "And there weren't any arrows in the quiver. Come on."

"I don't care. We have rules," she repeated, crossing her arms. The security guy didn't say anything. He mostly looked like he genuinely didn't want to get into all of this, but he had to on account of his paycheck, even if Nurse Fury was more intimidating than he could ever hope to be. 

The door to the administrator's office opened and the woman came out, followed by an unhappy looking Sharon Carter. Of course, she'd been unhappy looking when she finally turned up. So, nothing changed in the half hour she'd been in there. His stomach twisted itself into an angry knot. Come on, come on, let him in. 

"Mr. Barton," the administrator — a Ms. Sandersen who always seemed bemused by him and why he was on the family visitor list, given, you know, that he wasn't family — gave him a severe, school principal look. "Ms. Carter has explained there were extenuating circumstances, and I am willing to overlook the security violation today."

"So …" Hope sparked, but he stepped on it until he knew for sure. He squinted at Sandersen, glanced at Sharon who was giving him an impatient look, and then glanced at the nurse who was still shooting him warning scowls. "I can see her?"

"You may. Ms. Carter has assured us she's comfortable with your visit. We will keep your knife and quiver at the front desk. You can retrieve them when you leave." She held up a finger and dialed up the disapproving look. "This is the only time we will make this exception. Do you understand?"

Clint bristled, he didn't like the tone. He wasn't a child, he wasn't some armed lunatic — well, no more than usual, anyway. But he saw Sharon's frown deepen and her eyes narrowed dangerously, and he'd gotten his way, so he took a breath. 

"Yes, ma'am. I apologize for bringing them in the first place." He rocked back on his heels and scratched his cheek. "I forgot I had them."

"Thank you for understanding." She dipped her chin at him and started to turn away, but paused. "And thank you for stopping the aliens. My daughter and her family live in the Bronx."

"Oh …" Clint faltered. He didn't really think he deserved thanks for a situation he helped cause. "Sure. She's safe?"

"I talked to her this morning; everybody's fine."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

Nodding once more, she turned back to her office. The security guy took his chance and fled next, then Nurse Fury walked off, giving him a surprisingly cordial nod — he guessed since the issue was handled, she was done with it, too. He respected that and wished more people would do that. Plus, he was glad to be off her shitlist. He had the idea that wasn't any place he wanted to live. 

"Thanks for this," he told Sharon. 

"You look like hell," she muttered back as they walked to the wing housing Peggy's room. When the home wouldn't let him in to see Peggy on account of the teeny-tiny knife in his boot, he demanded they call her. She turned up forty minutes later looking ready to spit nails. At him, not the home.

"You're all heart," he grumbled back. 

She ignored him. "Why are you in uniform? Aren't you on leave?"

Clint gave her a black look and tugged at his jacket. "Wow, word gets around quick."

"Hill mentioned it."

"Whatever. She's just pissy she had to go to New Jersey for two whole minutes. There's still cleanup and rescue ops." He turned his head away and glanced out a window. It was a nice day, and the place had nice gardens, all trees and flowers and bushes. He shot the lovely summer's day a sour glare. "Though, give it a few more hours and that'll change to recovery."

"Maybe you shouldn't be out there," Sharon said, a thin thread of concern lacing her voice. 

"Why not? I helped the aliens invade in the first place. I oughta pick up after myself, right?"

Sharon sighed and stopped them in the hall, her hand on Clint's elbow. "Aunt Peggy doesn't need your shit, Clint."

"I just want to see her, that's all," he protested, feeling petulant and raw. Could the universe give him just five damned minutes to not bleed?

"Well, take it easy on her; she's been tired, you know that."

A cold, panicky desperation slid down his spine. "You said she was okay."

"She is," Sharon told him through gritted teeth. "It was a mild stroke, and she's been mostly pretty healthy. Her doctor was feeling positive about things when I talked to him yesterday."

He let out a long breath.

"But, you know, it's her second, and this one took a lot out of her," she continued. "She _is_ 91."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with a snarl. 

Sharon jabbed him in the shoulder with a fist. "Don't be a jackass." 

Ducking his head, Clint pressed his lips together. Peggy was old when he met her — seventy-seven to his nineteen — but damn it, he wasn't ready to let her go. And double damn it, he didn't have to. Not yet, anyway. 

"She'll be angry if you're beating yourself up about this," she hissed at him. 

"Beating myself up about what? Helping an alien psycho? Trying to kill Natasha? Killing … let's see, four other agents, and I don't even know how many I killed indirectly. Plus two guards in Germany." He shrugged and bared his teeth in a broad, bitter grin. "Nah, what do I have to beat myself up about?"

Sharon sighed. "Believe it or not, not everybody blames you for that. But, right now? You're making it difficult for me to want to help you," she told him, but the edge of irritation was gone from her voice. She was being patient with him, she was putting up with him, she was helping him see Peggy. He could make a damned effort to not be a jackass. 

"Sorry." Licking his lips, he muttered, "I'm not going to spew it all over her."

"I'm warning you. Because I can take your name off—"

"I won't," he said in a rush, holding up his hands. "I promise."

She waited a beat, watching him, sucking in her cheeks contemplatively, before she finally nodded. "Fine."

"Does she know about Rogers?"

"No. And don't tell her." Sharon gave his shoulder a nudge and started them down the hall again. "Not yet, I mean. She's still recovering and the stress won't be good for her. Maybe later, but not today."

"Okay."

"Speaking of Rogers. Do you know where he is?"

Like SHIELD didn't have six trackers on the guy. Though … maybe they didn't? Nah, they totally did. They just didn't tell Sharon. "No. Stark gave him a motorcycle and a credit card and said 'go forth, Capsicle, into this great land of ours.'"

Sharon snorted a laugh. "Stark's an asshole."

"Yeah." Clint squinted over at her, suddenly curious. Peggy was her aunt, and Stark's dad Howard was Peggy's friend for decades. "Do you know him?"

"Not really," she said with a uninterested shrug. "I met him a few times when I was younger. But, honestly, it's been years."

He wanted to blurt out 'did you know he has a kid?' because his brain was still reeling from that, and he wanted somebody to share the weird with. It would take his mind off the ugly. Natasha was around, but they'd hurt their covert status with the widely televised battle in the streets, and that was a little more than she could immediately cope with. So, she'd holed up for a bit. Not far, he knew where she was, but he got that she needed a little space to sort it out in her head. So, she didn't know about the kid yet. He hoped he was there when she found out. 

But, anyway, Stark's kid. Kind of hilarious, really. Amazing karmic justice — that guy with a daughter. And not just a daughter, but a mouthy stunner (because of her taser, right? Clint laughed at himself in his head, because he still didn't have anybody to share this with). A mouthy stunner who'd been at the New Mexico 084 with Selvig and Thor. Weird ass coincidence. Trippy how that happened. 

Sharon didn't look like she was going to say anything more about Stark, and the kid wasn't his secret to give up. Oh well. Peggy probably knew. Probably? Who was he kidding? Peggy totally knew. She ran an intelligence agency for like fifty years. She knew everything. And retired didn't mean she hadn't kept a hand in. 

They reached Peggy's room, but before Clint could knock, Sharon stopped him with an arm across the door. "Do _not_ make her stressed."

"I just want to see her. That's all." Clint gave her his best sad, pleading look. He really did just want to see her. He just wanted somebody to remind him that he was … well, that he wasn't what Loki turned him into. Peggy Carter was one person who'd always believed in him. He might not always understand why, but damn it, he needed that now. "I'll keep it light. Say I just came off shift, was in the area, wanted to say hi."

Sharon watched his face for another long minute. He wondered what she saw, but since she stepped back, letting her arm drop, whatever she saw must not have been too bad. "Don't make me bail you out here again. Because I won't. And tell Aunt Peggy I'll be by to see her tonight."

He didn't scowl, though he kind of wanted to. It was like having an annoying distant cousin or something. "Yeah, sure thing."

Shaking her head, Sharon gave him an almost fond clap on the shoulder and walked off. Back to SHIELD, back to work and untangling the whole alien invasion thing. He wasn't sure if he was resentful about that or not. Because, while yes, he was on leave until SHIELD decided if he was mentally stable or not, and that kind of pissed him off, he also didn't have to bust his ass over all that paperwork. So … it was a toss up, basically. 

Well, whatever. It was what it was. There was nothing he could do about it right then. 

Tapping at the door, he waited for Peggy to let him in. 

"It's open," she called. Her voice was thin, aged, but still strong enough to reach him.

"Hey Peg," he greeted. Peggy was sitting at an armchair by her window, a book open on the table in front of her, reading glasses perched on her nose. 

"Clint. Hello. This is a wonderful surprise." She took off the glasses and gave him a critical look over. "You look dreadful."

"Well, you look gorgeous." He said, dropping into the chair across from her and forcing a bright, toothy grin. "Geez. I never looked that good coming out of the hospital." 

"Charmer," she scoffed with a smile. "Terrible charmer."

"How you feeling?"

"Extremely tired of people asking me that."

He totally understood. "Yeah. I get that."

Clint let his eyes drift out the window while Peggy studied him. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just, you know, in the neighborhood. Thought I'd come see you."

"Don't lie to me, Clint," she told him, ordered really. He never could stand up to her when she sounded like that. 

He licked his lips and shifted in the chair. He promised Sharon, but, God, he wanted to tell Peggy, and for her to tell him it would be okay. "Nah, nothing. "

She shut the book and gave it an irritable little shove. "I know Sharon is trying to protect me. Rest, she says. They all say that. But, I'll hardly get that worried about you, will I?"

He darted a look at the door, then leaned forward towards her, his head bowed. "There was this … thing. I … an alien god asshole. Loki."

She took a sharp, shaky breath and he looked up, worried that he'd somehow stressed her out too far already. 

"Stop looking at me like that," she waved a hand at him. "I'm not on my deathbed."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered. 

"Loki. The Norse God?"

"Yeah."

Her eyebrow rose, but he couldn't read her face. It didn't look like disbelief, her expression looked sharper than that, focused. Something. "Thor's brother?"

Clint nodded and sighed. "Turns out they're real. I mean, I knew that. There was a thing with Thor earlier in the year. Guess he got kicked out of Asgard for a while. And landed in New Mexico, of all places. Weird. Like, wouldn't you figure he'd end up in Oslo or Reykjavik or something?"

"I see," she said, but her voice trailed off, distracted. 

"Hey, really, look it's fine," he said quickly, backing off, Sharon's warning about revoking his visiting privileges still ringing in his head. "I'm here. It all … you know, it all ended okay, I guess. I'm not—"

She cut him off. "Finish your story."

"He … he …" his voice caught and he shook his head. He had to get it out. He had to talk to somebody. It wasn't really in his nature, but this was Peggy and he'd always talked to her. "Loki, he got into my head. He messed me up bad, Peggy." 

"Oh, Clint." She held out a hand to him but he swallowed heavily and looked away. 

"I hurt people. I was there the whole time. It was me. He told me to do something and I knew exactly how to do it and I did. He gave me missions and I carried them out." He clenched his teeth and forced a harsh breath out through his nose. "I didn't fight him."

"If I had to guess, I'd rather suspect he's a powerful alien being," she pointed out softly. "The myths say he was quite skilled with magic, yes?"

"Sounds crazy, I know. But—"

"Lord, the things I've seen in my life." She sighed and tapped the table absently. "No, my boy, it's not crazy."

"I'm … man, I'm just pissed." He pressed his lips together and tried to keep back that anger.

"At him or yourself?"

He was silent for a moment before gruffly admitting, "Both."

"And what happened to Loki?"

"We stopped him," he said with a shrug. "Thor dragged him back to Asgard."

"I suppose telling you to forgive yourself would be utterly futile."

"Probably," he said, or growled really, but he was growling at himself. Frustrated, scared, angry. 

"Very well. All I'll do, in that case, is point out that if it was you the whole time, then you wouldn't be so upset now."

He grunted and screwed up his face a little. Maybe she was right, and it was what he wanted and needed to hear, but it turned out he wasn't in the place to accept that yet. 

When he didn't reply, Peggy continued, "And where was Natasha?"

"There. She kicked my ass," he told her, smiling ruefully. "Saved me. Again."

"Good," she told him firmly. "That's what a partner is for. You've saved her, too, after all."

"I know," he admitted. "Your boy Stark was there, too. He's fine, don't worry."

"No help for that." She laughed a little, soft and weary. "I've worried about him since he was born. It only got worse when he learned to hot-wire a car the day after he learned to walk."

"Yeah, and who taught him that?" Clint gave her a crooked smile and finally took the hand she held out to him again. "Don't know him well, but he seems like a pain in the ass."

"Oh, certainly," she agreed, smiling fondly. 

"But, maybe not so bad," he allowed. The guy was brash, abrasive, and obnoxious. But, uh, maybe some people had called Clint the same at various points in his life. And Stark came through for all of them when it mattered. Fought as hard as anybody else. Made the sacrifice play. Then bought them all dinner. So, Stark was pretty okay in his book. For whatever that was worth. 

"No. Under the excess there's a good man." Peggy shifted a little, turning in her chair to look at him more clearly. "He is, however, a difficult man to know."

"Not a surprise," he muttered, thinking about how much he did learn in a short time. Just one little encounter completely changed his impression of Stark. 

Peggy followed his train of thought and continued, "Both entirely as he seems and not at all as he seems."

"Yeah. There was this one this moment. Suddenly, it was like he was a completely different person. Except, the same, too."

"Funny how a bit of knowledge changes how you view things," she said, and he could tell she was leading him along. 

He smirked and nodded. "It is."

They were silent for a moment, before Peggy gave up the game and chuckled. "I assume you met Darcy."

He laughed. Of course she knew. See? He was totally right. Interesting that she brought it up, though; that was a big secret, after all. But, she did know him, she would know he wasn't going to squawk to anybody about it. 

"Completely wasn't expecting that," he said, leaning towards her now because, hey, somebody to talk to about it. "I'm not totally sure what to think. She was in New Mexico. I saw her a couple times, but we didn't meet or anything. She was driving Coulson up the damned wall. That was pretty funny." But, then, like pressing on a wound, a sharp pain reminded him that he couldn't laugh at Phil about that. Phil was dead. Because Clint helped Loki. Goddamn it. 

"I'm sure she was." Peggy hummed. "I haven't seen her since she was a child. How was she? She wasn't involved in that mess, was she?"

"No, nothing like that," he said, forcing another smile, wanting to ease any additional worry he might be giving her. He was really winning at everything today. "She was with this astrophysicist, Jane Foster, in Europe. So, they were out of the way. But, they came in after everything."

"I see." She frowned like she was putting together pieces in her head. But pieces of what?

"Blew my mind when she called him dad." In fact, he was still trying to sort it out. He watched her in New Mexico, and not for one second did something like this cross his mind. Nobody'd guess that she was Stark's kid, but he should have seen there was something more to her. Especially with the way Coulson backed off treating her like a security threat, and took an interest instead. It was weird and a little unsettling that she slipped right by him like that. "I couldn't figure out what was going on and then boom! Dad. Weird." He scratched at his chin and thought for a second. "Seems pretty down-to-earth for being his kid. I mean, she's got a mouth on her, for sure, but low-key."

"From her mother, I assume."

"You don't know her mom?"

"Not personally. Tony was always very careful to allow Darcy to have each side of her life unimpeded by the other. As much as possible, at any rate." She smiled at him. "He's a very good father. Which some might find the most shocking fact about him."

"No, I can see it." And he could. Weird as it was, it wasn't just the way he was with his kid, but the way she was with him. They laughed together and gave each other crap and were clearly friends. Which, well, in his experience he didn't think he knew anybody who was friends with their parents. And maybe that said more about the circles he lived in than them, but he thought it still said something pretty interesting about the Starks. "I mean, I've been around them a little bit in the last couple days. They click and she makes way, way more sense now that I know."

"Probably. I've spent, Lord, nearly 70 years around one Stark or the other. They're a baffling lot."

"No kidding. Man, Nat got assigned to him for a little while and bitched about him for a solid month." He laughed again, but then continued more thoughtfully, "But, I think she actually liked him. Not like wants to be best friends with him, but, you know, liked him okay." 

"I'm glad to hear it."

Chewing on his lower lip, he was reminded again of somebody else who liked to bitch about Stark, and the light moment faded and everything he was holding in rose up, like a sudden, vicious tide, and tried to swallow him again. "Phil's dead."

Peggy sucked in a breath and squeezed his hand. "How?"

"Loki. The asshole stabbed him right through the heart. It was my fault," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a choked rush, "I staged a raid on the carrier and knocked the systems offline and—"

"Clint," she said his name firmly, interrupting him. "Loki did it. You said he was in your head. Come now, darling."

"It was my hands. My bow. My shot." He glanced up at her, feeling the despair, the bleak hopelessness grasping at him. "I took the wrong shot, Peg."

She watched him silently for a long, long time. Long enough that shame was the next emotion that tried to devour him. Was she seeing his failure, his weakness, the ugliness that came out of him?

"I know you, Clint Barton," she said at last. "That was not your heart." 

"Wasn't it?" he mumbled, and lowered his head to stare at the dark wood of the table.

"No, it wasn't." She took her hand back from him and he felt the censure of her withdrawal, until she placed that hand on the top of his head like a benediction. "You have always fought to protect, to save. Never once have I doubted your heart, and I don't doubt it now."

"Why?" he asked, begged. 

She smiled at him and stroked his hair, then drew her hand down to pat the side of his face. "We've had this conversation before. Often."

He felt a smile, reluctant but there, tug at the corners of his mouth. She told him once, a long time ago, that one day he'd understand why she flew out to Iowa to make sure he joined SHIELD. One day he'd understand why she believed in him, why she chose _him_ , the screw-up on the fast-track to prison. "Are you ever going to tell me?"

"I won't have to tell you. You'll figure it out all on your own." She gave his face another pat and dropped her hand. "Soon enough. Things are changing." She laughed a little. "As they do." Focusing on him, she offered a smile full of understanding and compassion. "Well, you've had a busy few days, haven't you?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You're going to have a rubbish time for a while," she told him gently. 

He heaved a sigh and crossed his arms on the table, then dropped his forehead down onto them. "I know."

"But, it will get better. I promise you."

"I guess." He lifted his head and tried to look like he really believed that. But, mostly, he didn't so much. Not right now. 

"Trust me. It was … oh, I don't remember." She raised a hand and rubbed at her forehead. "Years ago. After the war, of course. Not long after SHIELD was founded, I suppose. Sixty or so years ago, then."

"What was?"

"Daniel and I were in Seattle, cleaning up after a Leviathan cell." She looked away, out the window, her eyes growing distant as she cast her mind back to that distant day. "I don't recall the details, but we were securing the facility they'd been using, making sure none of their nasty toys walked away."

Puzzled over the change in subject, he tilted his head to one side and said, "Sure."

"For some reason the building blew up," she mused, then shook her head. "Well, there was a bomb, certainly, but I don't recall."

The stroke hadn't done much damage, but it did wear her out, he knew that. And Sharon told him — last time they talked when she wasn't pissed at him — that the more tired she got, the harder it was for her to remember things. "Hey, you know, it's fine. You've had a long day. And, actually, I should probably go soon."

She raised her eyebrow at him and her lips thinned. "Let me finish first."

Clint backed down and cleared his throat. "Well, yeah, I mean, of course."

"And the fact that I'm bloody ancient is not why I can't remember," she told him with a sharp sniff. "Dottie Underwood was there. Did I ever tell you about her?"

Only about a hundred times. He was tiring her out and Sharon was going to murder him. "Yeah, Peg, you did."

"She shot me. With what I don't know. Some sort of energy weapon. I don't know that we ever recovered it." She scowled a little at that. As though she'd left a job incomplete, and that still chapped her, even sixty years later. "Irrelevant at the moment, I suppose. But, the next thing I remember, I'm sitting at lunch, halfway through a sandwich, as though it was any other day. I was understandably confused to discover it was more than two weeks later. Eighteen days gone from my memory." She snapped her fingers and continued to look annoyed. 

Okay, this was a story he'd never heard before. "Huh."

"Yes. Apparently, after Underwood shot me and the building blew up, I spent a few days in hospital. When I was released, I had some memory problems, but seemed to shake it off. Then I went about my life and about my job. We shut down the cell. We returned home. I analyzed the intelligence we were able to recover. I wrote a report. I attended meetings. And I don't remember one bloody second of it. I've always found that unsettling. Daniel was there, and Howard, so I wasn't off on my own with a gap where I didn't know what I was up to. Still, that feeling, that creeping feeling over my skin that for eighteen days I may not have been myself … that took quite some time to get over. I suppose, in part, it was a horrible feeling of vulnerability."

"I guess," he agreed. That wouldn't be fun. And for somebody as in control as Peggy always had been, that had to be pretty bad. Though, frankly, he kind of wished he didn't know what he'd been up to for the last week. It would be nice to forget that. Not that that would undo anything. 

"And perhaps fear," she continued. "If I was not myself, then what was I? What might I, unrestrained by the moral center of my _self_ , have been capable of?" She gave him a very pointed look. "Our situations are not perfectly analogous, but I know how that fear lingers. And I've seen others lose more than a handful of days, lose even more of themselves, lose entirely the things that make them human. I am sorry you've suffered, but I am so happy you've made it to the other side of the experience."

Clint pursed his lips and drew in a deep breath through his nose.

"I know it may not feel like you've made it yet, but you have. And you are going to have a damned awful time. There's no avoiding that. But, it's not forever, Clint."

Closing his eyes, he nodded. Accepting, or trying to accept, that she was right. Like she usually was. 

"The world is going to need you very, very desperately," she told him, repeating a theme she'd played for him since they'd met. He was never quite sure what she meant. He did his best, but he was still just a guy with a bow. Even with all the Avengers talk now, he just sort of ended up there, and he wasn't sure how he fit in with the super soldier, the Hulk, and the billionaire. "You've got a lot ahead of you. But, neither the task nor the burden are yours alone." 

"I know," he said.

"Do you?"

"I do," he assured her. Then he offered up a half-smile. "Nat, right? That's what partners are for."

"Indeed. But, I suspect Tony, as well." She pursed her lips in thought. "Others in time, I suppose."

"Aww, not Stark," he said, teasing her with a whining laugh. So, okay, maybe he did feel a little better, and maybe her words were reaching some part of him. Through the wreckage and the self-loathing. Because she was Peggy, and she always knew how to do that. Somehow. 

"He'll grow on you."

"Like a toe fungus?"

"Clint Barton," she chastised, but there was amusement in her voice.

"Alright, alright." He ran a finger over the wood grain of the table. "I really should go. Gotta get back to work."

She nodded and smiled. "Good man. Don't be so long between visits. I rarely get anything out of Sharon anymore. You're easier to crack."

Clint put on his offended face and glowered. "Gee, thanks a bunch. Don't tell Natasha that."

"Please," she scoffed with a light laugh and a wave of her hand. "Who do you think taught her to work you?"

"This is terrible," he moaned. "You're both terrible."

"Yes, we are," she told him, smiling indulgently. "Go on then."

He stood and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Thanks for talking me down, Peggy."

"Of course, my boy."

"You need anything before I go?"

"I'm quite fine, thank you."

"Ok. Oh, Sharon says she'll come by tonight."

Peggy sighed and rolled her eyes. "She needs to go out with friends more than she needs to spend another night sitting with her elderly aunt."

"You're better company than 99.9% of SHIELD," he told her with a matter-of-fact shrug. 

"What a depressing thought," she murmured and drew her book back towards her. 

He laughed. "I'll see you later, Peggy."

As he stepped out of her room, and shut the door softly behind him, he felt a little lighter. The sick swell of grief and loathing weren't gone, but they maybe weren't gnawing at his guts so sharply. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started down the hall. 

"Feel better?"

He froze and clenched his jaw. "Damn it, Nat."

His partner smirked at him and pushed off the wall on the far side of Peggy's door. He hadn't even looked. That was embarrassing. What sort of super paranoid spy was he, anyway? Smooth Barton. 

"Did you even look?" Natasha asked, reading his mind like the creepy mind-reading partner she was. 

Grimacing, he shrugged. There was no pretending with her. "No."

Stepping up next to him, she bumped his shoulder with hers. "So? Do you feel better?"

"I guess," he admitted. 

"Good. How is she?"

"Fine. You know, Peggy." He jerked his chin at the door. "You want to say hi?"

"Not today." Grabbing his forearm, she gave him a little tug, pulling him down the hall. "Come on, I'm hungry."

"Yeah, I could eat."

"You can always eat."

"Gotta take care of the temple," he said, waving a hand at his body. 

Smiling at him, she shook her head. "Sure." 

"Why are you here, anyway?" Not that he wasn't glad to see her, but he wasn't expecting it. Clearly. He'd predicted she'd need another week at least. 

"Sharon called me."

Confused, he shot her a look. "When? I wasn't talking to Peggy for that long."

"She called when the administrator called her. You turned up armed in the lobby?" Natasha sighed and lifted a hand to the back of his neck, lightly shaking him. "There are people who care about you, Clint. More people than just me and Peggy."

Mustering up a little smile for her, he shrugged. "I guess." Then he was hit by a horrible thought. "Oh, God, she didn't call Bobbi, too, did she? Because, I don't need—"

Laughing, Natasha gave his head a shove. "That would serve you right."

"For what?" he exclaimed. "I don't deserve that. Haven't I suffered enough?"

Natasha stopped abruptly and grabbed him into a tight hug. She wasn't really a hugger. He held her back.

"What's this for?"

"Just glad to have you back," she said quietly. She stepped back and gave him a fierce look. "We'll get there."

He wasn't the only one wounded in the battle. He wasn't the only one carrying an ugly burden. Nat had hers, and Stark, Banner, probably Rogers. Geez, actually, that guy was probably a mess and a half. "I guess we'll have to. We're like superheroes now or something."

"I guess we are." Her lips turned up in an amused quirk. "Come on, Hawkeye, I wasn't kidding about being hungry."


End file.
